Fool's Paradise
by teacandles
Summary: Blaine was trying. He could accept this, really. He just wasn't sure the rest of the world was ready to follow his lead. Sequel to Visions of Rain.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: Huh. I've been pretty prolific lately, haven't I? So here's the first part of the sequel to _Visions of Rain_. If you haven't read that, this will make no sense. This is not a stand-alone story. Updates will probably be kind of slow because I'm writing this down by hand (easier to get away with in multiple settings than typing this up on my laptop), but hopefully it's enjoyable.

_Edit: Okay, let's try this again and see if screws me over again by deleting this without my say-so._

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><p>Blaine didn't know if he'd ever get used to the feeling of putting on his uniform after an entire summer of nothing but t-shirts and jeans.<p>

Sure, he liked the conformity of the uniform—he liked being the same as everyone else because he finally felt like he _belonged_. It had been so comforting to him when he'd first transferred; the uniform had allowed him to blend into the background. No one could touch him because he was on equal ground.

That didn't mean that he felt out of place when summer first hit and he had to slip back into his own clothes. That didn't mean that he didn't feel odd going back to the uniform after three months of randomly picking out shirts and not having to iron creases into the seams of his pants. It wasn't so much that either option was particularly awkward; it was changing from one to the other that was difficult. He felt like completely different people when in and out of uniform. But he was a senior this year. This would be the last time he'd ever have to make this shift.

He checked himself one last time in the mirror, straightening the crisp, white collar of his regulation shirt. He'd always had trouble getting the stupid shirts to lay right, even after his mother insisted on getting them fitted. There was something funny about the way they were cut or maybe the way he moved. Maybe it was all in his head. They always looked strange to him.

His fingers slid up the silk expanse of his tie and tightened the immaculate knot at his throat once more for good measure. He frowned at the red and navy stripes leading up to his neck. He'd never liked the tie. It reminded him a little too much of his dad, coming home late into the evening, still fretting away over something or other for work. He'd have been happy to make the comparison before, but now he couldn't help but think that the man worked way too much; Blaine hardly saw him anymore, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. That was probably his fault—his dad had never really been the same after he came out four years ago, spending more and more time at the office and less and less time at home. Blaine knew he was ashamed of his gay son. He just didn't have the courage to say it outright.

He sighed as he shrugged on his jacket and studied his reflection. Three months ago he would have loved most any excuse to wear his uniform, to slip back into the comforting familiarity of the starched wool and cotton, but now it felt like a sham. He'd become a different person over the long summer months and now, stuffing himself back into the starched fabric of his blazer chafed more than he'd ever have thought possible.

It had to be painfully obvious to everyone that looked at him that something had changed. He wasn't the same Blaine Anderson they'd once known: he was somebody different, somebody stronger or at least he desperately hoped so. How could he not be, knowing what he knew? He didn't belong here anymore, and that stung like a knife to the gut. He _wanted_ to belong here, more than just about anything as a matter of fact, but he didn't know if he'd ever truly feel like he fit again.

Blaine sucked in a deep breath and straightened the lapels of his jacket one last time. His reflection stared back, looking just as nervous and resolute as he felt. "Well, Blaine, this is it. Might as well just get this over with."

Uniforms weren't technically required just yet. Not until that evening at the welcoming dinner with all of the deans and administrators, but it made him feel more official. And really, with the news he was about to deliver, he needed to look as professional as possible. No one would take him seriously—they'd think he was joking with them—if he showed up in a t-shirt and jeans.

The door handle was cool and firm under his hand, and he shot the room one last fleeting look before stepping outside. His roommate for the year had thus far been elusive but neat. Blaine almost felt bad about his request to switch rooms. Alex was all right, a good kid, but Blaine was needed elsewhere. Hopefully he'd put in his application early enough for someone to take notice, and he was supposed to meet with Kurt, his dad and the deans next week. Things would work out. Hopefully for the best.

There were a fair number of boys milling about the halls when he left, more than he'd anticipated at any rate. There were all kinds of faces littered throughout his path: there were wide-eyed freshman wandering around in partial uniform, trying to navigate the halls without their upperclassman guides and searching for classrooms in the veritable maze that was Dalton Academy; there were friends and boys he recognized from a class or two but whose names he couldn't place if he tried; there were complete strangers, boys out of his social circle that he'd maybe seen once or twice in passing. No Warblers, though. No, he knew exactly where they were.

The halls were bustling with life, and for a moment Blaine lost himself in it all. This place, this school, had been his home for two years now, and walking down the familiar corridors felt like returning from a long vacation, like sleeping in his own bed after weeks of nothing but hotel mattresses. But the thought suddenly reminded him of his real home, not five miles away, and the smile fell from his face.

Blaine could see his mother sitting alone at the dining room table, the glass of wine that had become her staple perched delicately in her fingers while she waited for his father to come home. He could see his father, still in his button-down shirt and one of his hideous ties, typing away a this computer late into the night.

He could see himself curled up on his bed in the dark, staring out the slightly open window, trying his best to ignore the empty cage in the corner, trying to blot out the hard, uncomfortable silence that filled his room with headphones shoved deep into his ears, trying to overcome the intense feeling of loneliness that had seeped down into the very core of his being. The house was always so quiet nowadays, and Dalton was anything but silent.

Blaine quickly found himself standing before the room so often commandeered for Warblers practice. All of the musical groups liked to practice there if they could—the one piano to be found in Dalton's halls was a valuable asset, particularly when it came time for competitions and auditions for the All State musical groups.

He steadied himself with a deep intake of air, his hand grasped firmly around the door handle. He hadn't expected to feel so intimidated, so nervous. It hadn't been anywhere near as bad when he'd been primping up in his room.

_Get a hold of yourself, Blaine. These are your teammates, your friends. There's nothing to worry about. They'll understand._

The handle went down smoothly and quietly, like it knew how badly he didn't want to be noticed while at the same time knowing how much he needed to do this. The door swung open and Blaine suddenly found himself the center of attention.

This sort of thing was so much easier when he was singing.

All of the current Warblers were there, lounging on the couches and tables. They'd been chatting about one thing or another. Most were out of uniform, though he noted a few guys in the standard slate grey slacks. Only one other guy besides him was wearing his jacket.

The quiet talk that had filled the room before his entrance had stilled and a thick, uncomfortable silence draped over the gathered boys like a blanket. Blaine shot the group a quick, nervous smile that fell flat before ducking his head and scurrying up to the front.

There at the head table sat the council members. Fresh new faces were in those seats, brand new seniors. Just like him.

He swallowed as his eyes trailed down the table. Looking at the council now only made him feel more like an imposter. These guys had struggled and given their all to get where they were now while Blaine had simply been the go-to frontman—the guy who stood up on stage with a big, stupid grin on his face while he belted out the melody. The real work, the real magic in the music came from the guys in the back, singing together in pitch-perfect harmony. His job was easy. All fronting. No real worries except maybe screwing up the words. He wasn't worth much. Not like these guys.

He slowly walked to the middle of the table where an empty chair sat waiting just for him. There was the gavel, and he was sure that if Wes had been there he would have spouted off something about traditions and how this particular gavel had been in use since 1917 or something like that. Blaine looked out over the gathered Warblers once more, and he felt a twinge of sadness. He knew all of these guys, but the gaps in the group from all of those who'd graduated and moved on to college and better things hit him hard. Perhaps people might think the same of his empty place next year. He never missed the comforting presence of David and Wes more than in that moment. They were always so much more confident and self-assured than he was.

He stood behind his chair and cleared his throat; he was afraid that if he sat, he'd never be able to get back up.

_Courage, Blaine. These are your friends. Things will be fine._

"Um, hi," he started and chastised himself for being so informal. "So. I bet you're all wondering why we're all here right now."

Nick spoke up from his seat down the table, and Blaine couldn't help but feel a sense of relief now that he no longer had the floor.

"As you know," stated Nick as his eyes swept across the room, "it is highly unusual to hold a meeting in the first week of school, let alone on the first day, but Blaine put in a special request. Before we get to that, however, I'd like to note that the meeting and invitational for new members for next Tuesday is still on. Please let a council member know if you cannot make it. Auditions for new Warblers will take place the following week." He looked back at Blaine, waiting for the other boy to speak once more.

Blaine felt every eye on him again. He wasn't really ready for this, but these guys needed to hear what he had to say. So far only three people knew. And not a one of them was here right now.

"My fellow Warblers." His voice was shaky but firm. Everyone could probably tell just how nervous he was. "I hope your summer vacations went well, and I'd like to thank you all for showing up. I know most of you probably have better things you could be doing right now."

He looked over the group again, trying to read their faces. He wondered if any of them realized that they were missing one of their current members.

"I would also like to express my deepest gratitude to all of you for selecting me to not only be on the council but to the council presidency." He ducked his head and chuckled a little. "I'll admit that I'm still a little shocked about that."

He paused, trying to find his nerve before it left him. He swallowed before speaking once more. "But, as great an opportunity and as much of an honor being elected to this position is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to resign."

An even deeper silence fell over the group—even his fellow council members looked shocked. He sucked his lips into his teeth and tried not to look anyone in the eye.

"Are you serious?"

He nodded, not bothering to look up to figure out who was asking. "Yes."

Nick simply chuckled nervously from his seat, his voice breathy. "Come on, man. Stop shitting us." All pretense of formality had left him.

"I'm not. That's why I requested a meeting, even though it's far too early in the semester for it. I can't keep this position."

A quiet query split the air, and no one was sure who said it. "Why?"

Blaine could feel his nerve leaving him again. These guys deserved at least a vague explanation, but he wasn't quite sure what to say.

"I…There was an incident over the summer. I realized that I'm not as good at dealing with stress as I thought I was." He looked up to see several hurt faces and quickly covered his tracks. "I'm not quitting the Warblers. Don't get me wrong, I just…I don't think I could be an effective leader."

"What happened?" asked one of the guys. Adam. Blaine recognized him—he was a junior this year.

Blaine smiled sadly and shook his head. "I can't say. I just don't know that I'd be able to handle the burden of being the council president at this time. It's not you guys, and I honestly thought that I could do this when I took the job, but I can't, and I'd like to promote Jeff, our esteemed vice president, to the presidency."

Jeff shot him a hard look, but his face revealed very little. "You know this is highly unorthodox."

Blaine smiled a little, half expecting Wes to pop up out of nowhere and spout off some random factoid about Warblers regulations and history, but he was in California now, nowhere near Westerville, Ohio.

"Yeah, I know."

"Are you stepping down form the council altogether?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "That was sort of the plan, yeah."

"Okay," sighed Jeff before he shifted over a seat into the middle. Blaine walked over to stand on the periphery of the group, fading away into the background. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he once more sat on this side of the council bench. "So now that we are short a council member, we must elect a new one. Are there any nominations?"

Chris, a sophomore this year and still relatively new, stood from his spot on one of the plush couches and gestured to the boy at his right. "I'd like to nominate Aaron. He's a senior this year, and I know he put in a lot of extra time last year during the winter concert season. He helped me and a few other people with their parts when he had spare time."

"I'll second that."

Murmurs of approval rippled through the room before the boys fell silent once more. Jeff swept across the room with his eyes. "Anyone else?"

There was nothing.

"All right. Then all in favor of electing Aaron to the council?" Every hand was raised. No one particularly felt like dragging this out any longer than they had to.

"And all opposed?" Nothing. Jeff smack the gavel sharply against the table. "All right. Congratulations, Aaron. You are now officially the newest member of the Warblers council," he said with a light smile.

A small round of applause broke out among the group, and a few of the guys offered Aaron congratulatory high fives and friendly pats on the back. Jeff banged the gavel once more and the group settled.

"Is there any other business that needs attending to?"

Silence.

"Okay then, Warblers. We meet up again on Tuesday. Don't forget; it's imperative that you be there. Meeting adjourned."

The boys began to slowly filter out of the room, chatting as they went. Blaine hung behind, waiting for the room to empty. He didn't feel much like socializing at the moment—too many questions to be asked, and he had no answers to give. He didn't notice Jeff moving up beside him to lean against the back of one of the old crimson couches.

"So," said Jeff, splitting the silence that had settled over the room, finally drawing Blaine's attention. "What's up?"

Blaine let out a little amused huff of air as he looked at the other boy. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"What, you don't want to answer a simple question?"

"Nothing's ever simple with you."

"True." Jeff leaned back against the firm frame of the couch. "But you're not always the brightest bulb in the box, you know. A lot of the time I can't tell if you're really that stupid or if you're just playing dumb. Seriously, Blaine, what's going on with you? You can't just go and land one on us like that and give only a half-asssed explanation. I don't think that most of the guys noticed, but I did. So tell me, what's up?"

Blaine frowned and walked over to the piano. Someone had been in there before the meeting and had left the lid to the keys wide open. He sat and silently ran his fingers over the white expanse before him, relishing in the feel of the smooth ivory under his hands, ignoring Jeff and his question.

Jeff sighed and stalked over to the piano, shoving Blaine down a little on the bench so they both could fit. He looked over the keys and began to play a slow, simple melody with his right hand. Blaine glanced up at him and memorized the pattern of his fingers before joining him in the lower register, the notes flowing in near perfect harmony.

"You know," said Jeff without looking up from the keys, his hand continuing to play, "you're going to have to tell me a reason for this whole thing, or I'm going to have to start guessing. Or worse, make something up."

Blaine didn't say anything; he just kept playing, adding in more and more elaborate harmonies. He was trying to avoid this conversation altogether.

Jeff sighed. "Did your parents split or something?"

"No."

"Your sister get a terrible new boyfriend, or elope to Jamaica with some biker?"

He rolled his eyes with an unamused chuckle. "God no."

"You have a pet die?"

Blaine faltered and his fingers slipped a bit causing the notes to jar together in a terrible clash for a split second before he caught himself and went back to the first, more simple harmony, scowling at his slip. His mind had flashed back to his bedroom and now he couldn't stop seeing little yellow feathers crusted with blood swimming all over the keys. Fuck.

"Hmm. That's never easy." Jeff brought his other hand up and complicated the melody a bit, trying to distract Blaine. "I remember when my dog died a few years ago. Cried for weeks afterward. Heck, I still miss her when I go home. You lose a dog too?"

Blaine didn't trust himself to speak. He merely shook his head. No, it wasn't a damn dog.

"Cat, then?"

"No. My mother's allergic."

Jeff frowned in confusion and thought back. Wait a minute. Blaine had always been kind of crazy about birds. Maybe… "Was it a bird? I know how much you like them, but I didn't know if you owned one or not."

"Yes, okay? It was a fucking bird." His hands were striking the keys a little too hard. The notes were coming out far too harsh. He was getting too worked up, letting Jeff get to him.

"Okay, okay. Jeeze. There's no need to get pissy." Jeff changed the notes up a bit and went silent, letting Blaine calm down by figuring out how to match the new chords. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry to hear about it. Losing a pet is never easy, man."

Blaine was silent, his face hard and concentrated solely on the piano, like he hadn't even heard Jeff speak. They continued to play in silence for a while before Blaine's quiet voice split the air. "It was Pavarotti."

Jeff's fingers came to a complete stop as the words sunk in. Pavarotti. He knew that name. And it was a bird. But that meant…He turned to the boy beside him, his face bunched in concern.

"Blaine?"

Blaine didn't respond. He simply sat there, his hands resting on the keys, though no sound came out. They'd given away that damn bird almost as a joke. Very few new members actually got a freakin' canary when the joined the group. Jeff hadn't thought about it before, but now it made so much sense. And oh god, that made this that much worse. How could he have missed this before?

"Blaine, where's Kurt?"

Blaine pushed himself up from the bench and stood without saying a word. Jeff made no move to follow; he simply watched as Blaine walked stiffly from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: This is what I do instead of studying for my finals. Priorities mean nothing to me.

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><p>"Hey, um, I'm heading out now. To meet with some people." Alex shuffled nervously at the door, not quite sure what to do. "Do you want me to grab you something from the dining hall? You know, since I'm going there anyway?"<p>

Blaine didn't respond. He simply sat there, as he had for the past couple of hours, his chin nestled firmly in his curled palm. He'd stormed into their room some time ago, silent and fuming, refusing to tell Alex what was going on. And any attempts at conversation with his normally jovial roommate had been dismal failures. He glanced anxiously at the partly open door and gripped his hand a little tighter around the handle, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth. He didn't really know Blaine all that well, but this behavior was unnerving. The guy had been really personable up until now.

Alex shrunk back against the door a little more. "Okay then. I'll just, um, I'll get going then. I'll see you later. I guess." He slipped from the room with one final look at his glowering roommate.

The door shut softly with a gentle click, and the light that had spilled in from the hallway slunk away, plunging the room into near total darkness. Blaine hadn't realized that it had gotten to be so late. He straightened his fingers and buried his face in his palm.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was ever fair.

He knew that he was being stupid, childish. This was Kurt's decision, and really, he had no right to act like this. He shouldn't be sitting here alone in the dark, sulking like a little kid. He should be over in room 317. He should have expected this.

An all too familiar burn had crept back into his sinuses, and he wanted nothing more than to punch himself.

Fuck, he couldn't believe this. He couldn't even handle a little thing like this. His fingers crept higher to thread through his hair; he no longer cared about the gel laced throughout the thick black curls.

This was just one little thing. Why was he so upset over it? It didn't really matter in the end. He could handle it. Even if it felt like a terrible, crushing blow right now.

It was fine. This was just one thing.

He could handle this.

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><p>Blaine had been damn near insufferable the entire day, and Nick was getting tired of it. The guy hadn't been able to sit still for anything, and whenever he did, his eyes kept wandering over to any clock he could find. That or he simply ignored everyone and messed with his phone. It didn't matter how many times he checked it, a minute was still going to be the same amount of time that it had always been. After the third time Blaine's attention had wandered away during their conversation at lunch, Nick had finally had enough.<p>

"All right, Blaine. Talk. What the heck has gotten into you today? Do you really think that looking at the clock is going to magically make time go faster? Are you really that excited for classes to start up on Monday?"

Blaine's attention snapped back to the two boys in front of him. Jeff and Nick were both looking at him rather expectantly, and a light flush colored his cheeks. Crap, he'd been doing it again. "What? I'm sorry, guys. I missed that."

Nick buried his head in his arms with a frustrated growl. He raised his eyes up to glare at Blaine, and muttered angrily at Jeff, "You see what I mean? Total spazz." He gestured at Blaine, punctuating each word with a swipe of his fingers. "I know he's not on the council anymore, but good lord. No one in their right mind could be this distracted. What do you think's gotten into him? Stress over classes already? Something about Warblers that we don't know about? Boy troubles, maybe?" he asked with a small, teasing smile and a waggle of his eyebrows.

Blaine suddenly seemed far more invested in his pasta, and Jeff fixed him with a knowing stare. He had an idea why Blaine was so antsy; he just wasn't sure how much he should share. After all, what little he knew was still technically speculation. He watched as Blaine pointedly ignored them and he shook his head. Blaine really needed to work on that. The guy said far too much, revealed far too much, with his silences. Jeff took another bite of his sandwich, his eyes never leaving the boy in front of him.

This had to be about Kurt.

He just knew it.

Blaine didn't look up, focusing on the tangle of noodles in front of him. He honestly didn't know why he'd gotten the damn thing. It wasn't as though he was actually hungry. Appearances, he guessed. He always liked to keep up appearances. At least the food was a decent distraction right now.

"No," he replied softly, twisting and untwisting bundles of noodles around his fork. "No, I'm just distracted today, that's all."

He glanced up and his eyes locked with Jeff's. "You sure there isn't anything you want to tell us, Blaine?" His voice was a little colder than necessary, but Blaine more than deserved it for storming out on him yesterday. Jeff had an idea of what was going on, but that didn't mean that he didn't want some answers. He was done playing Blaine's little game of cat and mouse.

"No," Blaine assured them, his hazel eyes never leaving Jeff. "There's nothing."

So he was still going to keep hiding. Fine. Jeff could play this game too. "Good," Jeff sniffed before he turned back to his sandwich, turning the thing around and inspecting the bread in his hands. He took a bite and looked back up, focusing once more on Blaine. "So Blaine," he mumbled around the food in his mouth, "how's Kurt?"

Blaine flinched, but Nick took no notice. "Hey, speaking of Kurt, where is everyone's favorite little spy? I don't think I've seen him yet this year. Granted, we've only been back a few days, but still." His eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Hey, wait. Now that I think about it, he wasn't there yesterday, was he? You know, at the meeting."

There was a mild clatter of ceramic and glass, and both boys turned to see Blaine jumbling all of his dishes together onto his lunch tray.

"Hey, where are you going? You barely touched that." Nick gestured at Blaine's near full plate.

"I'm not that hungry. I'll catch up with you guys later." He grabbed the edge of his tray and made to leave.

"Oh ho, so this _does_ have something to with our little countertenor." Nick's smile was wide and predatory.

"You're delusional," Blaine muttered as he gathered up his utensils.

"Am I really, though? I'm not the one avoiding questions, leaving everything open to interpretation."

Blaine scowled. "Fine. Yes. Yes, I'm thinking about Kurt, okay? You happy now?" he spat.

"Not really, no. That still leaves so many questions unanswered. Like why he isn't here right now." He ducked his head and lowered his voice. "You don't think he transferred, do you?"

"I don't know." Jeff stared pointedly at Blaine. "You'd have to ask him."

Blaine rolled his eyes and rose from his seat. "Goodbye, Nick. Goodbye Jeff."

"So you guys were official, then?" Jeff asked softly.

Blaine stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

"Is that why you got so upset yesterday after the meeting? Lover's spat get you all messed in the head? Trouble in paradise?"

"Wait, what? What happened yesterday?" Nick's head swiveled back and forth between the two boys, completely missing out on the exchange. "What happened? Guys? Come on, what happened. Guys?"

"It's nothing, Nick. Just eat your lunch and mind your own damn business," Blaine snapped.

"Hey, chill. He didn't do anything."

"My personal life is none of your concern, _Jeff_."

"Yeah, except that actually, it is," Jeff sighed. "I'd love to just give you your privacy, man, but you're really not acting like yourself. You've been out of it since we got back, and with your little announcement yesterday…we're worried about you, Blaine."

Blaine sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but everything's fine. Kurt and I were never a couple, and this isn't about a lover's quarrel or whatever stupid reason you came up with. I just…I'm worried about him. He didn't transfer, I know that, because he's supposed to come back up to campus today. I haven't heard from him in a while, and I'm worried about how he's doing. That's all."

"So what's up with him? I thought you had to have super special permission to miss the welcoming dinner." Nick puffed up his chest with an air of false importance. "It's tradition, after all." He deflated and leaned forward onto his elbows, all interest in his lunch gone. "So what's up with the little guy?"

"Kurt's been sick." Blaine lowered his eyes to the floor, his fingers gripping the plastic tray in his hands tight enough to bleach the skin white. "Really, really sick."

Jeff's expression finally softened, the realization of why Blaine was so beaten up about this sinking in. People didn't usually miss the stupid dinner with the deans unless a parent died or they were in the hospital or something. Something stupidly serious like that. Maybe that's why Pavarotti's death had shaken Blaine up so badly—the bird would definitely have been a reminder of Kurt, and if the guy was in the hospital, having the bird die might have felt like an omen or something. And everyone knew how bad Blaine had had it for Kurt. That must have been hard.

"I'm sorry, man. We didn't know."

"I know," Blaine whispered. He glanced up at the clock. "Look, I've got to go. I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Hey, Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"If you see him, let him know we're thinking about him, okay? I hope everything's okay."

He nodded before turning away with his full tray. "It should be. Things were getting better last I heard." He stalked away from the table, and neither of the other boys made any move to stop him. He'd let them know what was going on eventually. Blaine never could keep a secret for very long.

* * *

><p>Blaine rose from his uncomfortable seat as the pair walked in through the open door, and let a small smile grace his lips. "Kurt."<p>

The boy looked so much thinner, so much smaller, than Blaine remembered. Even since the last time he'd seen him not three weeks ago. The jacket of Kurt's uniform didn't really fit him anymore, and his shoulders seemed to swim in the large fabric.

But he was here. He was really standing there with his dad, one of the man's large hands resting gently on his thin shoulder and a light smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he said quietly as he sat down on one of the chairs lined against the wall. His dad followed suit, keeping a close eye on his son. "I got your text from earlier. Sorry I didn't respond. I got kind of caught up with things and forgot."

Blaine shrugged and sat down beside the pair, flashing Mr. Hummel a quick smile. "It's fine. It's just really good to see you. You know, in person. Talking on the phone is good and all, but I'd much rather have the full Kurt Hummel experience." Kurt let out an amused huff of air, and Blaine leaned back in his chair. He studied the boy beside him with a critical eye, drinking in every aspect of his appearance. "So how are you doing?"

Kurt looked away, his hand rising up to fiddle with the short strands of hair beside his ear. Blaine fought the urge to grab the boy's hand and place it back into his lap where it belonged. He struggled to tear his eyes away from the twisting fingers and made himself focus on Kurt's face. Kurt wasn't actually touching his ear, and there wasn't any evidence of scratching or scars. Everything was okay. He was just overreacting. Kurt was fine.

"All right, I guess," Kurt murmured. "I'll admit that I'm not really ready for classes to start up again." He chuckled softly and smiled at Blaine. "Though I'm not sure anyone is when school starts up again in the fall. And we're seniors this year, so there's college and stuff to think about too." He startled when his dad's hand moved from his shoulder to still Kurt's ever-moving fingers.

"Kurt…" he warned gently, and Kurt lowered his hand.

"Yeah. Sorry. I forgot," he whispered. "Force of habit." But he stilled after that, his hands coming to rest folded atop one another on his lap.

His dad patted him on the back. "It's all right, bud. Just keep it in mind." He looked briefly around the empty room. "You boys think you'll be okay by yourselves for a little bit? I need to find a restroom before we get going again."

"It's no problem, dad. We'll be fine. And the closest one is just down the hall." Kurt pointed out the open door, but Burt made no move to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay? I'll only be gone for a minute."

"It's _fine_, dad. Go. We'll be here, hale and whole when you get back."

Burt nodded roughly and rushed from the room, intent on getting things done as quickly as possible. Kurt simply sighed and melted into his chair. "He's been like that all week."

Blaine cleared his throat to ease some of the tension that had trickled into the air over them. "So, um, what have you got left to do today?"

Kurt fell back against the soft cushioning of his chair as though he were exhausted, but his face belied no emotion. "Well, I have to get my schedule, but I think they might give that to me during our meeting later. Um, dad already informed the administrators about me, and I'm guessing all my teachers know now too." He turned his head and locked his eyes with Blaine's. "You know, in case I go psycho or something in class or have to get shipped away to the nut house again."

Blaine frowned but said nothing. He didn't really like Kurt talking about himself like that, but it wasn't really his place to say anything, so he kept quiet. It didn't sit well with him though, and he wanted nothing more than to reassure Kurt, tell him that he was wrong.

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to get his mind to work. It was so hard to focus, so hard to _think_ nowadays. "Let's see, my dad and I still need to run over things with the nurse concerning my medication, and then there's the whole thing with rooming assignments."

"Which is why I'm here."

"Yeah."

"I put in my application, Kurt. Since it's the beginning of the year, I've got a good chance of getting reassigned."

"Hmm," Kurt hummed noncommittally. He had never been the biggest fan of Blaine's plan to have the two of them room together, but his dad seemed to like the idea, so he went along with it. If he thought about it, it might be easier to stay with the other boy since Blaine already knew everything anyway. It wasn't like there'd be any surprises. But Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that he was being monitored. He liked the Blaine well enough—heck, the guy was one of his best friends—but he knew that Blaine wouldn't stop treating him like he was made of glass. It was already getting really, really tiring, and school hadn't even started yet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to put up with that 24/7.

So what room are you in now?" Best to just not think about it. Change the subject.

"254. Do you know your room assignment?"

"317." He smiled tiredly at Blaine. "Apparently my roommate's name is Francis. If the paperwork is to be trusted, of course."

Blaine gave a tiny snort of amusement. "What do you bet he goes by a different name?"

"I don't know. 'Francis' is all right by me. Dignified," he said with a slight upturn of his nose.

"Oh really?"

"Sure." Kurt shrugged with an amused grin. "Besides, it could be a lot worse. He could be named—"

"Sorry to interrupt, boys, but we're gonna have to go, Kurt." Burt had returned, and his hand had once again taken up residence on his son's shoulder. "We need to get your meds and things dropped off before your meeting."

"Okay." He rose from his seat and turned to Blaine. "Um, I guess I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah. We're meeting with the Dean of Students in," he checked the clock, "a half hour or so, right? I'll see you then."

"Mmhmm." Kurt allowed his dad to steer him away toward the door. "I'll see you there, I guess."

"Yeah." Blaine forced a smile as Kurt was shepherded away. "I'll see you then."

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, the request was denied?"<p>

"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but protocol dictates—"

"Protocol? Protocol allows for room changes."

"_Not_ of the student's own choosing, Mr. Anderson. We have rooming assignments for a reason. We don't make exceptions except under very special circumstances."

"And this doesn't count?" Burt asked quietly. "Seems to me that things would be a lot safer if whoever Kurt's staying with knows about the situation."

"While I agree with that statement, Mr. Hummel, I believe that it should be up to your son as to whether or not he wishes to disclose this information to the other students. He has been okayed to return to school, so I'm afraid that you—both you and Mr. Anderson, here—appear to be overreacting. I think this should be up to Kurt."

All eyes shifted to the boy in question, who had sunk down low into his chair, trying to do his best to be as invisible as possible. "I…I'm okay with it, I guess. I don't really care who my roommate is, to be completely honest."

"But Kurt—"

"It's not your decision, Mr. Anderson. Nor is it up for debate." He turned his attention to Kurt once more. "Will you be all right to attend classes on Monday?"

"Yes, sir," Kurt all but whispered.

"Good then. Now Kurt, Mr. Anderson, please feel free to retire to the dormitories. I have a few last-minute details I need to discuss with Mr. Hummel."

Burt grabbed his son's hand as Kurt rose to leave. "Call me, okay? Any time of day or night if you feel something's not right. You know it's never a bother."

Kurt simply nodded and made his way to the door, Blaine hot on his heels. As soon as the door closed shut behind them, Blaine turned an accusatory stare on his companion. "Why didn't you back me up in there? I'm sure we could have gotten what we'd asked for if you had spoken up. I thought we were in this together."

"Because I didn't think it was that important."

"Not that important? But Kurt, we talked about this! I'm the only one of the students who knows—"

"And you treat me like an invalid!"

Blaine was taken aback by Kurt's sudden outburst. His voice caught in his throat as Kurt shrank back down and exhaustion painted his features once more. "I just want things to be normal again."

"But things are never going to go back—"

"Don't you think I know that?" Kurt's blue eyes burned with renewed anger, and his hands curled into fists as he stared down the shorter boy in front of him. "In case you hadn't noticed, _Blaine_, this is happening to _me_. Not you. So _butt out_," he hissed.

For several tense moments they stood there in a silent stand-off, neither one willing to back down.

"Fine," Blaine murmured, his voice deadly quiet. "Have it your way then." He turned his back on Kurt, storming down the hallway to the stairs without a second glance.

No one was there to see Kurt deflate and stumble against the wall. No one saw Kurt slide down to the floor and bury his head in his knees.

No one was there to bear witness to his shameful tears.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Not sure that I like this part, but it's something.

* * *

><p>Jeff rolled over onto his back and heaved out a great sigh. The curtains on the windows were doing nothing to filter out the silvery moonlight dancing across every available surface, and it was driving him nuts. Not that he needed complete darkness to sleep; it just made it easier when he was as tense as he was right now. He ground the back of his head into the flat pillow beneath him and tried to pretend for the five hundredth time that he was at home, in his own bed, but nothing was working. It just wasn't the same.<p>

School sucked.

He turned his gaze to the ceiling to try and distract himself, but there were no tiles to count, no cracks to follow, no stains to examine. Nothing. Nothing but darkness, and it just made his thoughts race ever faster. He rolled his head over to the side to catch the time from the tiny alarm clock perched on his roommate's desk. Three forty-two in the morning. And he was still nowhere near sleep.

School really sucked.

And classes hadn't even started yet.

He sighed again and flung the covers away from his body, sitting up and swinging his legs harshly over the side of his bed. Daniel's heavy breathing was muffled by the blankets thrown over his face, and Jeff snorted at the sight of his roommate. Guy could sleep through anything it seemed.

He ran a hand through the messy ends of his short hair and tried to get his thoughts in order. Maybe a walk or something would help calm him down. At the very least, it might tire him out enough to pass out for an hour or two. He was up for anything at this point.

It didn't really matter that it was way after curfew—getting caught might actually give him something to think about besides scheduling Warblers practices and the nightmarish teachers he was sure to have for this year, though he seriously doubted that anyone was awake at this hour to catch him wandering the halls.

He shuddered as his feet hit the cool wooden panels of the floor and quickly shuffled around for the nearest pair of pants and shoes he could find. Both he and his roommate for the year were messy teenage boys at their finest, so there was sure to be something lying around within reach that he could use for the time being. He fumbled around on the floor as quietly as possible until his fingers hit denim and the hard leather of a shoe. Jackpot. He hastily donned the clothes and grabbed the jacket hanging from the doorknob, praying that whatever the heck he was wearing was his. He'd be back long before anyone would be awake to notice anything strange (though how anyone would know the difference between his and Daniel's casual clothes was beyond him).

As he made his way out into the hall, the solid door of his dorm room at his back, he suddenly found himself at a loss for what to do. The kitchens wouldn't be open for another couple of hours, hanging around the common areas after curfew was begging to be caught, and he couldn't go down to the practice room without giving in to the urge to sing or play the piano or something. Damn it, even breaking the rules at school sucked.

Jeff carefully padded down the hallway, drawn to the large window above the stairs that looked out over the grounds. The light from the nearly full moon spilled across the floor, lighting up his skin and the sleeves of his jacket as he moved ever closer to the glass.

It was cold out, though he couldn't see any hint of frost on the windowsill or the lip of roof visible to his line of sight. His light breath fogged up the glass of the window as he leaned in close, obscuring his view momentarily before his wiped it away with a quick brush of his sleeve.

Everything was so still outside, so quiet, and he longed for some of that serenity to bleed into his mind and blot out the racing swirl of anxiety that was keeping him awake. He folded his arms on the sill and buried his chin there, his eyes scanning the grounds below. Autumn was in full swing but the last few days had felt more like winter than anything else. At least the leaves hadn't lost all of their color just yet. The trees that weren't hidden by shadow were dotted with yellows, reds and even tiny hints of leftover green from summer. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, the scent of his jacket filling his senses and making him dizzy. The rumble of the heaters beneath the floorboards thundered in his ears.

Maybe he should go outside. The cool night air might help clear his head. He headed down the steps of the grand staircase, praying that no one noticed his descent. The thought of losing himself for a while in the dark was suddenly comforting, and even if he never made it to sleep tonight, he'd at least have found a way to calm himself down.

Thankfully, tomorrow was Sunday, so he didn't need to worry about waking up early for classes or anything of the sort. The thought of classes sent another surge of worry through his chest—what if he didn't do well this year? His grades hadn't exactly been the best last year, and college was right around the corner. He'd never hear the end of it if he let his grades slip and let his chances at getting into the ivy league go down the toilet. His mother would never let him hear the end of his mediocre SAT scores and how his lack of effort was ruining the family name, his father would say that he wasn't even worth the money it would take to send him even to community college, his brothers would all gloat and flaunt their awesome careers in his face, and…he closed his eyes as he reached the door, pausing for a moment to catch his breath and collect himself back into some semblance of order. Things were going to be okay. He'd done decently enough on his exams, and he still had time before he needed to send off his applications for school. He was going to be just fine. He needed to believe that.

Jeff slipped outside, and walking into the cold air of the early morning was like diving into the ocean to emerge fresh and new. This had been exactly what he'd needed.

He shut the heavy door behind him with a soft thud and curled his bare feet inside of his shoes. They felt a little big around the toes—probably Daniel's then, or maybe that was just the world's subtle punishment to him for neglecting to find a pair of socks before sneaking out of his room. Whatever. They would protect his feet from loose rocks and sticks and keep them mostly shielded from the cold. He'd be fine. It wasn't like he was going to be out here for all that long anyway.

He shuffled forward and studied the trails before him. The heady moonlight lit up the dirt paths, and he veered to the left on a whim. There was a courtyard off to the side of the school that very few of the guys liked to hang around in. The old fountain was back there—the broken one that no one had bothered to fix just yet—and the old benches were overgrown with moss, making them rather uncomfortable to sit on. Jeff liked it though. It was one of the few places he could talk to someone without the fear of eavesdropping, and it reminded him a little of the fantasy novels he'd liked to read so much as a kid. It felt a little like going home.

Dried leaves and gravel crunched under his feet as he walked, and he felt a smile creep onto his face. This was exactly what he'd needed: a little fresh air to calm his nerves, even if it was stupidly cold right now. He rounded the edge of the building and caught sight of the towering white marble pieces that used to be a fountain. Something had crashed into it long ago and smashed the bowl into a dozen good-sized chunks. They lay there in the moonlight like the bones of some great beast. Jeff had always liked to imagine that they were part of the ruins of some ancient city, though the fountain itself had probably only been there for fifty years or so. The moonlight only made the scene more ethereal than usual, and for a moment, he lost himself in the fantasy.

His breath billowed out in front of him like a cloud, and he carefully made his way around the fountain, studying it like a piece of art. A part of him really hoped that the people in charge of the grounds at Dalton never got around to fixing it. A slight breeze kicked up, the cold air going right through the fabric of his jacket and thin nightshirt to bite at his skin, and he curled in on himself, ready to head back inside.

But something stopped him. As he turned to leave, his gaze caught on the little building nearly hidden by a cluster of trees. It was the old chapel, long since abandoned, but kept around on campus for the history or something. Jeff looked up at the dark sky overhead and back over to the chapel. It wouldn't be warm in there by any stretch of the imagination, but it would get him out of the wind and allow him to stay outside for just a little while longer. It was closer than walking back to the main hall anyway. He broke into a run and ducked inside the heavy double doors, his hands slipping a little on the carved wooden handles in his haste.

Jeff rubbed his hands briefly to get more blood flow to his tingling fingers, and he let out another heavy breath that streamed out from his mouth like smoke. He could hear the wind beating against the solid frame of the building, but he felt none of it. It was as cold as death in here, but whoever had built had known what they were doing. He grinned to himself as he straightened his jacket about his shoulders and took in his surroundings.

He'd been in here before, but only once, as a freshman. He, Nick and a few other guys had wandered over here during one of their study hours. It had seemed like the perfect hideout, where they could sneak alcohol and girls and other things prohibited on school grounds, but a teacher had shot those dreams down quickly when he found them inside and chased them out. It wouldn't have worked well anyway. Most everyone knew about the chapel. The upperclassmen would have claimed it long before some rookie freshmen could sink their claws into it had it been a reasonable spot to congregate and break the rules. Jeff smiled as he ran his fingers over the dusty walls. If only.

He looked up at the cross hanging on the wall above the doors to the sanctuary. It was falling apart, and one of the beams had the remnants of a bird's nest nestled into the corner. His smile grew wider at that. At least _someone _had made good use of the chapel.

He wandered forward, pressing onward into the sanctuary. The bright moonlight shot through the colored glass of the windows to paint abstract masterpieces across the frayed, threadbare carpet. He hadn't expected to find someone else inside.

Jeff froze at the sight of chestnut hair and stooped shoulders peeking out from the top of one of the pews closest to the alter. His breath caught in his throat and he stood completely still, afraid that the slightest movement from him might alert the other person to his presence. They were probably a vagrant looking for shelter from the cold, or maybe another student who couldn't sleep.

He hadn't expected the singing.

It was quiet, very quiet, but it was there. And Jeff definitely knew that voice.

"Kurt?"

There was no response, but Jeff's nerve grew the more he studied the familiar head of hair, the longer he listened to the simple melody spilling from those lips. It had to be the countertenor. It simply had to be.

"Kurt?" he repeated, moving forward. "Is that you?"

There was still no response, and Jeff began to worry. Blaine had said that Kurt had been sick. Like really, really sick, maybe even hospitalized. It really, really, _really _didn't make any sense for the other boy to be out here (especially since, to Jeff's knowledge, Kurt hadn't even made it up to campus yet), but unless Jeff was going crazy, the person sitting there was Kurt.

The singing was just as soft as ever when he screeched to a halt at the edge of the pew. He was breathing too heavily for such a short sprint, but Jeff really didn't care at this point. That was Kurt sitting just ahead of him.

Kurt was curled up against the end of the pew, his feet pressed up tight against his thighs. His eyes were closed, but his lips still moved in song. Jeff recognized the melody. It was on one of the CDs his mother always played in the car when she goaded him into running errands with her. Kurt was repeating it over and over, almost like a prayer.

_So the world goes round and round_

_With all you ever knew_

_They say the sky high above is Caribbean blue_

Jeff swallowed and stepped forward, reaching out his arm toward Kurt. He was almost afraid to touch the other boy, that maybe if he disturbed him then he'd disappear like a phantom. But phantoms don't cradle cell phones in their hands or have their breath fly out in front of them like mist. Phantoms don't have traces of tears clinging to their eyelashes while they sat alone in the dark, singing to empty air. Kurt's lips were pale with the cold. He must have been out here for a while then. Jeff couldn't leave him here.

"Hey, Kurt," he murmured as he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The singing stopped and Kurt's eyes snapped open. He seized up under Jeff's hand like a deep ready to spring away, but he relaxed when he saw who it was. "Oh. Oh, it's you. I thought…" He trailed off, growing silent and looking away.

Jeff sat down beside him. Kurt folded his legs in tighter to his body, his eyes suddenly downcast, his fingers flexing around the phone in his hands.

Jeff chuckled softly, and Kurt shot him a nervous glance. "What's so funny?" he whispered.

"I never pegged you as the religious type, Kurt."

Kurt shrunk down into his coat. "I'm not." He looked up at the crumbling alter, the tarnished stand where a bible once sat, the broken cross beside the choir loft that once hung above everything. "I actually don't believe in a god at all."

They sat there in silence for a while, the wind pleading with them from outside, rattling the stained glass and whistling around the heavy wooden beams of the building. Kurt knew that Jeff was probably bursting with questions. He probably wanted to know what he was doing out here. Why he was singing in an abandoned church in the middle of the night. Why he was so fucking _crazy_. The silence was weighing down on them, making the faint whispers in his ear grow ever louder, and Kurt sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "I found this place last year. I couldn't sleep one night and wandered outside. It's where I go when I need to think."

Jeff laughed a little at that. "At three in the morning?"

Kurt looked down at the little blue screen of his phone. "It really is that late, isn't it?" He sounded so defeated, and Jeff looked over at him. He looked on the verge of tears.

"You okay?"

"What?"

"Are you doing okay? I mean, Blaine said—"

"Don't talk to me about him," Kurt snapped.

That was surprising. Jeff's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "You guys have a fight?"

"Something like that." Kurt was closing himself off again, and Jeff had to suppress the urge to punch something. Kurt could be so frustrating sometimes. He wondered if the boy did it on purpose.

"Sorry. I won't talk about him right now. I promise. But I heard that you were really sick, and that's why you weren't there at the welcoming dinner."

Kurt curled up closer into himself. "Yeah. I guess you could say that." His fingers moved up and down the smooth sides of his phone. They were going faster than before, and Kurt's breath was quickening. Jeff was getting worried.

"Kurt? Are you okay?"

"Not really.

Jeff rubbed his palms over his jeans, trying to build up some warmth in his legs. "We should probably get back inside. It's freezing out here, and if you've been—" he stopped short. Kurt's cold fingers had let his phone slip to the floor with a soft clatter to wrap around his wrist. Jeff froze and slid his gaze up to Kurt's face. The boy's blue eyes were wide and pleading, his grip tight. "Kurt, you're scaring me."

Kurt suddenly released his hand and looked as though he was about to burst into tears. He was mumbling something to himself, and Jeff swore he caught the whispered traces of half-spoken words.

_Thank god. Thank god, you're real._

Jeff stooped down and grabbed the phone from the floor before straightening and helping Kurt to his feet. He could feel Kurt trembling under the heavy layers of his jacket, but Jeff wasn't sure if it was from the cold or something else. He didn't really know what to think right now.

"Come on." He wrapped his arm around Kurt's thin shoulders. "Let's get you inside."

"Jeff?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have my phone? I don't—I can't seem to find it."

"It's all right. I've got it." He passed the device over to Kurt, who accepted it with a soft 'thank you' and held it tight to his chest. "Do you need to call someone?"

Kurt shook his head and dropped his eyes to the ground. "No. I hope not."

Jeff didn't question it. He just started forward, leading Kurt along toward the doors. The countertenor began to hum under his breath, and Jeff's pulse quickened. Kurt had been acting so strangely and it was really starting to get to him. "Why are you singing?"

Kurt stopped and looked down at his hands, his entire body frozen in the moonlight. He looked so lost, so frail in that moment that Jeff was afraid that he would simply disappear. "Because…" Kurt whispered, his voice steeped in shame, "because it keeps the silence at bay."

He nodded and drew Kurt in a little closer, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. "Okay. I'll help you out, then." He smiled at Kurt's dumbfounded expression, trying his best to ease the tension between them. "I don't think I know the words to that song, though. Do you know anything by John Denver?"


	4. Chapter 4

The pair sat there in the dark, empty still stillness of the abandoned chapel for what felt like an eternity, singing quietly to one another and to nothing at all. Kurt chose every one of their songs, turning to a new melody as soon as the last note of the previous song died away, sometimes doing little more than humming softly in the dark. Jeff didn't know a good number of the songs Kurt chose, but he tried his best to follow along, sometimes adding in his own simple harmonies.

It reminded him of the game he liked to play with Blaine, how the two of them would sit at the piano in the practice room, teasing each other with more complex melodies and harmonies until their fingers tapped out something beautiful. He wanted to tell Kurt this, but thought better of it. Kurt hadn't reacted well to the thought of Blaine earlier and singing together in the old chapel at the edge of campus for an hour or two probably wasn't going to change that. And, if Jeff thought about it, he knew Blaine a hell of a lot better than Kurt. It was best to just keep it to himself.

It was nearly dawn when the last song spilled from Kurt's lips and faded into silence. It had been so quiet as to be nearly a whisper since the hoarseness in Kurt's voice had overtaken his typical lilting falsetto. Jeff himself had stopped singing some time ago when the dry tickle in the back of his throat and the sharp tingling needles of cold in his extremities had driven him to distraction. And now his brain was way too tired to try and keep up with the notes.

When the music finally died, they sat in silence for a while, neither one quite sure what to do, both unwilling to make the first move. Their breath rose in little hazy white puffs above their heads, and Jeff could have sworn that the temperature had dropped even more since he'd first ventured in here.

Kurt suddenly shifted, the ancient wood of the pew beneath them moving with him, and Jeff's eyes wandered along the length of their shared seat to Kurt's hands. They were curled into fists pressed tight against the boy's thighs, the hand closest to Jeff clutched protectively around his phone, and their words from earlier started running through his head.

_Do you need to call someone?_

_I hope not._

Jeff swallowed nervously, trying not to think about Kurt's odd behavior nor what his actions might have done to encourage it. _It doesn't matter, _he told himself again and again, trying rather unsuccessfully to convince himself that everything was okay. _Kurt's been ill. You know that for a fact. You did nothing wrong in sitting here with him. If anything, he needed the company._ Jeff's fingers had gone numb some time ago, and his face was burning with chill. They really ought to get back inside.

"Hey." He turned to Kurt as he spoke to see the other boy startle at the sound of his voice. He had to admit that the silence had been so pervasive that his words now felt out of place. He cleared his throat, gathering up the courage to speak again. "We, um, we should probably get back inside." He turned to fully face Kurt, a wide, disarming smile spread across his face to hide his growing unease. "I'm pretty sure we'll freeze if we stay out here much longer."

Kurt nodded and slid from the pew bench to his feet without a word. The old wood creaked with the sudden change in weight, the sound echoing off the high, arched ceiling. Jeff quickly followed suit, doing his best to ignore the numbness in his legs, and his eyes darted back to Kurt's hands. The other boy was still clutching his phone like a lifeline, the skin of his fingers almost white from the pressure.

Jeff sighed and reached out to grab Kurt's hand. His fingers wound around the cold skin of Kurt's palm, and he tugged him toward the large double doors. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's go back."

* * *

><p>Jeff dragged Kurt to one of the lesser used side doors so they would be less likely to be caught. Warmth enveloped their bodies like a blanket the second they stepped out into the hall, and Jeff almost lost himself in the sensation. He glanced up and down the hallways, searching for any teachers and aids who might be lurking in the dim light of the coming dawn. The last thing he needed was to get caught wandering around with another student after curfew (or would that be before, now that the sun had started to rise?) the day before classes started.<p>

They made it to the second floor, Jeff pulling an oddly pliant Kurt behind him the entire time, before slowing to a stop. Jeff's breath was coming in fast little pants, and he could see Kurt's chest moving a little faster and shallower than usual, his cheeks stained with bright spots of color. Sprinting up the grand staircase while dodging phantoms in the halls made for decent exercise.

"So," he said with a breathy huff and a smile, finally letting go of Kurt's hand. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," Kurt whispered in response. He seemed a little more lucid now that they were inside. "I don't want to go back to my room."

Jeff cast a look up the remaining stairs and grimaced. Going into his dorm room now might very well wake his roommate, and Jeff didn't trust the guy well enough yet to be sure he wouldn't tattle on him. It would be safest to find a spot to hide out away from the dorms for now, like an empty classroom or perhaps in a secluded nook of one of the common rooms. "Yeah, that's probably best. I don't really feel like going to my room either."

He looked down the hallway and tried to think of where they could go. The sky outside was fading from black to blue with the rising sun, lightening the long shadows of the hall. He sighed and looked back at Kurt and was taken aback by what he saw. Now that he could see him properly, the boy in front of him looked vastly different from the Kurt Hummel he remembered, like someone had taken Kurt and sucked out his essence, replacing him with something…different, not Kurt. Gone was the stubborn set of his chin, the calculating look in his eyes, replaced with a bone-deep weariness that Jeff couldn't quite place. It was unsettling. He swallowed and grabbed Kurt's hand again, leading him down the main hall.

"Come on. I know where we can go."

Their footsteps echoed eerily in the silent halls, and Jeff's heart pounded furiously in his chest. Oh god, they were going to get caught, weren't they? _They were going to get caught, and he was going to get a reprimand before school even started all because he had wandered outside, and he wasn't ever going to go to college and get out of this stupid state, and_—the sophomore commons were just as empty as everywhere else. The fire had long gone out in the fireplace, the ashes from the night before still lumped in a small charcoaled pile behind the old metal safety grate, but the room was just as warm as the rest of the building. Still and silent and no one would know they were there if they stayed quiet and out of direct sight of the hallway. Perfect.

Jeff released Kurt once more and stalked over to an armchair beside one of the large arching windows. Kurt stood there for a moment, his fingers moving restlessly over the surface of his phone before he stepped forward to follow. He made directly for the window and stared out the glass at the grounds below. He could see the shed where the groundskeeper kept a great deal of his equipment.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" Kurt turned at the soft query and looked at Jeff. The boy was leaning forward on his knees, his brow drawn into a worried frown.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Things," he said vaguely, gesturing a little with his hands as he moved away from the window to sit across from Jeff on one of the great scarlet couches. He didn't bother to elaborate any further, and Jeff didn't feel like pushing it.

"So, um, how was your summer?" Stupid question. "I mean, aside from getting sick and all—"

"I don't remember most of it. I was in and out of the hospital a lot."

"Oh." Well, that went south fast. "Um, do you want to talk about it?"

Kurt looked away. "Not really. There's not much to talk about, and I don't know what there is to say."

That was at least a partial lie: there was plenty to talk about if Kurt was willing. Hospital visits weren't exactly vacations; there was always a reason behind them. "Well, are you better? That's a good place to start, I suppose." Jeff caught himself and backtracked on his words a bit, praying that he wasn't overstepping his bounds. "That is, if you want to tell me, of course! I don't want to push you into talking about this if you don't want to."

Kurt shot him a sad, tired smile. "No, it's okay. I just don't know what to say about the whole thing. I was sick, I got treatment, and now I'm well enough to go back to school. I'm not completely better yet, but I guess it's something."

"Hey now, when did you go and become an optimist?"

"You call that optimism?"

"Well, not exactly, but coming from you…I'll take what I can get."

Kurt actually laughed at that, and Jeff relaxed a bit. As long as he could keep this as casual as possible, he might be able to garner some real information from Kurt. As the shorter boy sobered, Jeff steeled himself for his next question. "So, do you have, like, cancer or something?" The question came out so quiet it was almost a whisper. He hadn't wanted to ask, but he needed to know. Cancer was big. Big enough to need hospitalization off and on over several months, and treatments for it would certainly explain Kurt's wan appearance.

"Cancer?" Kurt's eyes had gone wide with surprise, and his voice was tinged with disbelief. He stared at Jeff for a moment before letting forth another quick laugh. He stilled when he realized that Jeff was hadn't moved and was still silent as the grave. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yes, Kurt. I'm serious. Though I'm guessing from your reaction that it's not cancer."

"No, it's not cancer."

"You need some sort of transplant? There was a kid my freshman year who had to get his liver or something replaced, and—"

"No, my organs are just fine, thanks."

"Then, it's, um…yeah, I can't think of anything else at the moment." That wasn't exactly true either; Jeff just didn't want to guess. Some of the other maladies he could name fit better, but he wanted Kurt to trust him enough to tell him what was up. He stared silently at Kurt, his eyes urging him to say what had happened over the summer to have changed him and Blaine so much.

Kurt frowned once he caught on to what Jeff was waiting for and tucked his chin down tight toward his chest. He curled his legs up on the couch and drew himself together like a clam closing shut, his arms wrapping tightly around his torso. Jeff could see Kurt's fingers twitching nervously, as though they wanted to move elsewhere, but Kurt wouldn't allow them access to wherever it was they wanted to go. "I really don't want to talk about this," he mumbled into the fabric of his jacket.

"Okay. Okay, we don't have to talk about that if you don't want to. It's fine. I'm sorry about asking and stuff. I knew you were uncomfortable with it, but I kept—"

"Jeff, it's fine. I just don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. We can—we can talk about something else. How about music? Like, you could tell me about some of the songs you were singing outside, or maybe we could talk about the Warblers." Kurt's head shot up at that, his face pale.

"We haven't started practices or anything for that yet, have we?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, though we do have auditions for new members coming up soon. We're meeting up on Tuesday for those by the way, so make sure you're there for that. It's mandatory, and as a member of the council, it would seem unfair for me to let you get away with missing it. There was a meeting earlier, but it was for Bl—" he stopped short, not sure if he should bring up Blaine. "It wasn't important."

"It was Blaine, wasn't it? That's how you found out I was sick: he went and announced it to everyone." The hurt and betrayal written across Kurt's face stung like a knife to the chest, and Jeff fumbled with his words, trying to come to his friend's defense.

"No! Well, I mean, I found out that you'd been sick after that meeting, but that was after I pestered him for a while about what was bothering him. And even then he didn't really tell me much of anything; I had to figure most everything out on my own. I swear, he didn't say anything about you at the meeting."

Kurt wasn't convinced in the slightest. His fingers were nearly tearing the sleeves of his jacket, he was gripping it so hard. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"No, really. He didn't say a word about you. Just that he couldn't be on the council anymore because—"

"Wait," Kurt interrupted, jerking forward in his seat, "he's not on the council anymore?"

"That's what I said."

"But that—he told me that's what he's wanted for forever now, to be able to help choose songs and things and help the younger guys get accustomed to the group. He worked hard to get there, and I don't understand why he would—"

Jeff held up a hand to still him. "I know, Kurt. We all thought it was weird too, but he simply called an early meeting around move-in and resigned. He didn't say anything about you. In fact, I'm not sure that a lot of the guys noticed you were missing."

Kurt winced, and Jeff cursed himself under his breath for sticking his foot in his mouth yet again. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just—"

"It's fine. It's better that people didn't notice that I was gone. Less questions that way."

Jeff went quiet for a while, not really sure what he could say to make things better. He knew that Kurt loved being in the spotlight, and the very thought of being forgotten was probably painful for him. He scoured his brain for a different subject to talk about. "Uh, so how do you feel about classes starting up?"

"Nervous."

Well, at least they had that in common. "Yeah, me too. I did kind of terrible on my SAT and my parents want me to re-take it in November."

"Oh. Sorry. That—that's kind of awful." Kurt's words were halting but sincere. Some of the tension drained away from Jeff's shoulders.

"It sucks something awful. Taking that thing again is one of the last things I want to do. Did you do well? You're pretty smart, so I'm guessing you did."

"I did all right. I didn't score as high on the math portion as I'd hoped."

"I know what you mean. Except in my case, just replace math with all of it."

"Sorry," Kurt whispered in sympathy.

"It's okay. My parents are just really on me about grades and stuff this year. You know, with college coming up and all." He paused for a second, lost in thought before turning back in full to face Kurt. "Do you know where you're going to college?"

"College? I…no, not really." Kurt's gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. "I don't…I'm not sure I'm even going to college."

Well, that was certainly news to him. "Why not, Kurt? You're really smart—I've seen your grades, man—and you were always talking to Blaine about going to New York and stuff. Did something change?" Another stupid question, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Of course something had changed. The kid had been in and out of the hospital all summer with what was probably a life-threatening disease. College was probably one of the last things on his mind.

Kurt stayed quiet, turning his head to look out the window beside them. The sun was peeking out over the horizon, hidden by a thick blanket of clouds stained orange and yellow with early morning light. Some of the early-rising students and staff would be up soon, and they'd no longer be alone. A thin layer of white frost had gathered along the edges of the roof he could see through the window. The corners of the glass were fogged a bit, obscuring the view of the grounds. It was colder than he'd thought.

"Yeah, Jeff. Something changed." He brought his knees up to his chest, his gaze still fixed on the window almost like he was trying to memorize everything he saw. His voice was shaky, the hoarseness from before accentuating his distress and making it seem as though he was about to cry.

Jeff stood and walked over to the couch. He set himself down beside Kurt and sank into the plush old cushions. He wanted nothing more than to draw the other boy up into a hug—he certainly looked like he could use one right now—but thought better of it. Kurt had never seemed one for physical affection, and Jeff really didn't know him that well. It wasn't like they were friends or anything—just guys who sang together in the glee club.

He swallowed and placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. The boy was trembling like a bird under his hand, and his mind went unbidden to Pavarotti, and how broken up Blaine had seemed about it. "It's okay, Kurt. Everything is going to be okay."

Jeff wasn't sure that he believed his own words, but it felt comforting to say them out loud. He didn't want to be here with this boy he hardly knew. He didn't want to be the go-between for Kurt and Blaine now that their friendship, relationship, whatever it was had gone sour. He didn't want to be here anymore with the weight of the damn world on his shoulders.

But Jeff was a nothing if not a good friend, and Kurt needed him now. He could sit here in the quiet of the early morning with the other boy until they were ready to talk some more or perhaps head back up to their rooms. There was no need to talk about Blaine or Kurt's illness or anything else right now. They could sort out this whole mess later.


	5. Chapter 5

The room was quiet. Too quiet. And Kurt couldn't get his mind to shut off.

His eyes tracked over to the bright red numbers of the alarm clock on his desk. Three thirty-four. Francis had said that Kurt's alarm was better than the one he'd brought along—it was far more likely to wake the both of them up at the proper time as it hadn't failed once in the two years Kurt had owned it—but right now the small victory of using his clock over his roommate's felt more like a massive failure. Kurt was pretty sure that right now he hated it more than he'd hated anything in his life thus far.

He blinked and tried to will the numbers to change. It was still three thirty-four.

The clock was mocking him; it just had to be. There was no other explanation for it. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, hoping that sleep would catch up with him this time. When he opened his eyes next, he would see the light of day spilling in from the window, Francis would grumble about how early it was and how he didn't want to go to his classes, Kurt could get up and wander the halls without reprimand, and he could carry on about his day like everything was normal. Like _he _was normal.

Like everything was okay.

But that wasn't going to happen. He'd likely just lay there until his body became too exhausted to care anymore and shut itself down, or he'd be locked in this eternal hell of drawn-out time, where it would forever be three thirty-four a.m. The latter option seemed far more likely.

He dragged his eyes open and refocused them back on the clock, back on the little red numbers that had to be conspiring against him because it couldn't still be three-fucking-thirty-four in the morning. His eyes burned with a dull sort of ache as he stared, and he knew it would disappear if only he could get his brain to shut down, forget the damn clock and let him _sleep_.

It had begun to rain outside a few hours ago. Kurt could still hear the soft pattering of water against the window panes through the drawn curtain blocking the room's view of the grounds. Francis had told him that he was anything but a morning person and that he'd be much easier to be around if the curtains were drawn in the mornings. Kurt had no reason to object. It was such a little thing to want, after all.

The numbers were the same as ever, still three thirty-four, and he found himself itching to go and match the time up with his phone. Perhaps they'd had some sort of power outage that had stopped his alarm dead in its tracks, and the numbers had simply forgotten how to blink to let him know that such a thing had happened. Perhaps it was really much closer to six o' clock than the clock was willing to tell him. That had to be it.

He shut his eyes once more and studied the darkness behind his eyelids. He could see little splashes of color, some of it faint hints of what he'd seen of the room but most of it vague shapes that twisted and turned with every passing second. Maybe this would help him drift off.

Normally when he couldn't sleep it was due to his racing thoughts, a horrible stream of constant motion rushing through his brain that jolted him from one anxious thought to the next, but now there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but more of a cloud, like he was wading through a ball of cotton. He wasn't sure which feeling was worse. Kurt squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, trying desperately to block out the snowy static playing on endless repeat at the forefront of his mind.

_What are you doing?_

"I'm trying to sleep," he mumbled to no one in particular, his words half muffled by the fabric of his pillow pressing up against his cheek. "S'hard."

_Why?_

Kurt opened his eyes and sought out his roommate's bed. He'd been so sure that Francis was asleep, but perhaps he'd been mistaken. The boy had been so adamant about getting a good night's sleep before that Kurt never would have guessed him to be an insomniac too. But when he sought out his roommate, all he found was the boy's sleeping form, the soft lump of blankets that covered his body rising and falling in time to the even breaths that swept throughout the room, a gentle sighing undertone to the harsh beating of the rain outside. Kurt was alone save for the clock and the shadows that threatened to swallow the room into total darkness. Which meant he was hearing things. Again.

He ground his cheek more firmly into his pillow, screwed his eyes shut once more and twisted his lower lip between his teeth. His medications were too new and not built up enough in his system to block out the voices just yet. His doctor had warned him that something like this might happen. Kurt just hadn't expected two episodes in three days. It was probably because of all the stress of move-in and the start of classes, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

_You never answered my question._

_Go away, go away, go away_, he thought feverishly, refusing to speak aloud. He wasn't supposed to acknowledge the voices. They weren't there. He'd been told to ignore them as much as possible, deny them if the urge to talk back became too overwhelming. _They aren't there, Kurt. They don't really exist._

_Are you thinking about Blaine?_

_Oh god, shut up._ His hands inched up toward his face. The fingers of his left hand picked at the skin of his ear. The slight twinges of pain were distracting, bringing him back to reality.

_This has to be about Blaine. That's why you won't talk to us. Because he thinks you're insane. That's why he wanted to keep an eye on you, you know. So you don't embarrass him with how crazy you are. You'd do that, wouldn't you, Kurt? Break down in the middle of class? Strip naked and shimmy across the stage during a performance with the Warblers? That's what he thinks you're going to do, you know. That's why he wants to keep an eye on you 24/7. Because you're crazy._

Kurt desperately fought back the urge to hum. Sound, like singing and music usually drowned out the voices. Silence was his enemy, but he couldn't do anything. Not now. Not without waking Francis. Not without revealing the voices in his head and risking the chance of showing everyone just how crazy he really was. He screwed his eyes as tight as they could go and fought the urge to cry. This couldn't be happening again. It was supposed to have stopped.

_It's Blaine's fault you're in this mess. He's the one who got you committed in the first place. And now he wants to make amends, fix his mistakes. He blames himself for this, you know._

That was news to Kurt. But he couldn't trust them. They'd lied to him before. Why should they tell him the truth now? "Go away," he pleaded softly. "Please just go away. I need to sleep."

_You should talk to him before he finds out about your little adventure with Jeff the other night._

_Oh god, just shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. _"Why won't you leave me alone?" he whispered through clenched teeth,. His body was wound tighter than a drum, his back curving with the tension built up in his frame. His nails gouged little red crescents into his earlobe and the skin of his temple, and his breath burned hot in his lungs. He just needed to focus. If he focused hard enough they'd listen to him and go away. The beat of the rain on the window echoed loudly in his ears.

There was no reply.

He slowly unwound as the silence wore on, the tension slowly escaping his body like water through a sieve. He dared to open his eyes.

Three thirty-six a.m. He let out the deep breath that had built up in his chest and tried to convince himself that it wasn't a sob. _They're not real. They're not real. _He just had to keep telling himself that.

_We're as real as you want us to be. _Fuck. He must have said that aloud. His eyes felt wet, but he was too tired to move, too tired to respond. What did it matter? It was all useless in the end. The voices were never going away, were they? He turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in his folded arms, finally giving into the tears he couldn't hold back anymore. The voices just kept up their whispering, telling him soothing words that meant nothing, nothing at all.

_Sleep, Kurt. You need your rest. Tomorrow's a new day._

* * *

><p>Kurt focused his attention on the pale blue tiles of the shower stall as the water beat down around his shoulders and neck, trying not to let the shower lull him to sleep. He couldn't afford a slip-up like that right now, no matter how little sleep he'd managed to get last night.<p>

He looked up, blinking away the water that tried to worm its way into his eyes. There was something discoloring the tiles closest to the showerhead, turning them an odd greyish brown, but he really didn't want to think about that. Who knew how many boys had showered here before him (after all, the school was kind of ancient), and on top of that, who knew how often these things were cleaned? The thought caused his stomach to lurch, and his hand jolted forward to the tap to stop the flow of water. He needed to get out of here before he threw up.

He flung back the flimsy white curtain separating him from the rest of the bathroom and briefly rubbed away the water clinging to his legs and torso before wrapping his towel around his waist, not even bothering to dry his hair in his haste.

He realized that he'd forgotten to bring a fresh change of clothes with him when he stepped out of the stall, his tiny bottle of soap clutched tight in his hand. He swore as he snatched his pile of dirty clothes from where he'd left them and hastily stumbled back to his room. It was still early. Almost no one was around to see his trek down the hall, and even if there were, it wasn't exactly _that_ unusual to see guys wandering around in nothing more than a towel. Kurt supposed that it was just strange that it was _him_ of all people who might get caught doing it.

He found the little board tacked to the door of his room, proudly marking it as number 317, and he fumbled with the pants balled up in his arms, searching for the room key he'd stuffed in his pocket before making his way to the showers. His hands were unreasonably shaky as he scrabbled to get the key into the lock, and he was pretty sure that one of his socks had escaped his grasp.

"Come on, come on." The key went in, and he gave it a sharp twist, his shoulders sinking in relief as the lock gave way easily. He quickly shuffled inside and pulled the door shut, letting his clothes drop to the floor. He'd bother with them later.

Francis was still fast asleep, not bothered in the slightest by Kurt's absence or his less-than-silent entry into their room. Kurt wasn't sure how he would have dealt with his roommate had he been a light sleeper. _I bet Blaine is a light sleeper_, he mused as he made his way over to the small dresser that held his uniforms. _He looks like he'd be a light sleeper._

He walked over to the closet on his side of the room, careful to keep his towel firmly situated about his waist, and pulled out the basics that he'd need for the day: underwear, the standard grey slacks, the crisp white uniform shirt, the striped tie. He had the option of wearing the blazer or the vest today. Kurt was fairly certain that before this past summer he would have never been grateful for only having two choices of things to wear, but he really couldn't deal with the stress of sorting out and creating an outfit today. He'd go with the blazer. He figured that most of his classmates would be wearing it instead of the vest for the first day, and it would probably make him stand out that much less. The last thing he wanted right now was to draw any more attention to himself than he had to.

Francis groaned and shuffled about on his bed, and Kurt hastily shucked on his pants and underwear, not wanting to get caught naked by his roommate on what was to be their third full day living together. He'd never live it down.

He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt before sinking down to the floor to gather up the clothes he'd left there. He gathered them to his chest and dropped the bundle of clothing onto his rumpled comforter. He settled down next to them, the mattress dipping with his weight, and stared at the floor, his elbows resting heavily atop his knees. It was almost six o' clock, almost time for everyone's alarms to start going off, for the rush of teenaged boys hurdling from their rooms to the showers and dining hall for a quick breakfast before the start of classes.

Breakfast. His stomach flipped at the thought of food. He'd skip it if he thought he could get away with it, but his medication didn't always sit well without something to eat. He'd take being nauseous for an hour or two over being nauseous for the rest of the day, thanks.

Kurt cast another quick look at the clock and sighed. It would be best get himself ready as quickly as possible. Then he could grab something quick from the front of the line for food and come back here with no worry. He straightened and tried to keep his fingers steady as they pushed the buttons of his shirt into place. It was a little odd feeling the starched collar of his shirt pressing up against his neck, but he'd get used to it. He'd worn far more uncomfortable things in the past.

The knot of his tie was a little sloppier than he would have liked, and everything he wore hung a little too loosely from his too-thin frame nowadays, but that would be remedied soon enough. He was on the mend and no longer had to eat hospital food. He'd be back to a healthy weight in no time, he was sure of it. Francis shifted about again in his sleep, and Kurt quickly shoved his feet into his shoes and bolted toward the door. He didn't feel up to facing his roommate just yet.

The halls were nearly deserted as he made his way through the twisting labyrinth leading to the nurse's office. It was still early, and he wasn't sure if anyone manning the desk right now would be able to administer medication to students—he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have when the head nurse had gone over the procedure for this sort of thing with him and his dad, and the past two days he'd been here much closer to eight o' clock, rather than just before six—but it was worth a shot. He didn't feel like having to come back here when everyone was up and he was in danger of being seen. He slipped in through the door and walked up to the desk.

It was odd seeing a man sitting there instead of Ms. Buxley. He was engrossed in what looked like paperwork, marking things off as he scanned through the pages. The name tag pinned to his shirt read 'William Felton.' He had to be the nurse on call after hours. Kurt cleared his throat to catch the man's attention. He looked up and pulled off his reading glasses to get a better look at Kurt, his lips lifting in a disarming smile. He seemed friendly enough.

"Hello. How can I help you this morning?"

Kurt swallowed. "I'm, uh, here for my medication. I'm supposed to take it in the mornings."

The man pushed himself back from his desk and grabbed a small ring of keys from the cabinet behind him that he slipped into his pocket before opening up one of the drawers behind the desk. Files. He must have had to make sure Kurt's file was in there to make sure he wasn't lying and trying to steal some poor kid's pills.

"All right. And can you tell me your name?"

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

Mr. Felton picked out one of the manila folders and laid it open before him, checking the photo on the first page to make sure that it was the right boy standing in front of him before flipping toward the back for the instructions on administering the right dosage. He snapped the folder shut and walked over to the locked cabinet on the other side of the room where they kept the medications. Kurt was too distracted by the folder on the desk to pay him much heed.

_They've been writing things about you in there. Terrible things. Like what you did over the summer. Where you've been. What you're capable of. Just like Blaine. They don't trust you either._

Kurt's fingers itched to reach out and grab the folder. As much as he hated to admit it, the voices were right: they _had_ been writing things about him, and every little detail must be locked away, safe and secure inside that little manila folder. What if this man, the night nurse, had been studying his file, laughing at how insane he was and then sharing it with the rest of the night staff.

_God, just look at __**this **__kid. I've seen some crazies in my time here, but nothing quite this bad. And he's not even two weeks out of the psych ward, too._

He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and fingered the hard edges of his room key, trying his best to memorize the way the metal teeth felt against his fingertips. It would give him something to focus on besides the file, make him seem much more put-together than he felt. He wasn't supposed to touch his ears anymore. Felton was suddenly there again, holding a little paper cup of water in his hand, kind of like the ones they used to give him at the hospital. The pills were cupped in his other palm. Kurt couldn't see them, but he knew they were there.

"You okay there, son?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he assured him with a quick nod. "Just tired."

The man before him said nothing, simply passing over the pills and water. He moved back to his desk, hiking his reading glasses back up onto his face. Kurt swallowed and stared at the little pills in his hand. Two red ones for the delusions, one white for the anxiety. Far less than what he used to take.

_You don't need them, you know. They're not working anyway._

Kurt clenched his teeth and fought the urge to respond. No one was there; he was just hearing things. Saying something now would only make him look unstable in front of this man, Mr. Felton, who probably had the authority to recommend his removal from the school on accounts of safety. He popped the pills into his mouth and choked them down, washing everything away with the few swallows of water inside the paper cup.

_You know they're not working, and yet you take them anyway. Such a precious little sheep._

He smiled shakily at Felton as he tossed the cup into the trash. "Thanks. I guess I'll see you around."

"Take care of yourself, Kurt." And he turned back to his paperwork.

Kurt opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. There were a few more students around, most headed for the dining hall. He followed along behind them, trying to seem as normal as possible, but it was difficult with how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. Everyone knew he was crazy. They had to know.

That had to be why, even after the pills had disappeared down his throat, the manila folder was still laying atop Felton's desk.


End file.
